jane
12, 1897.
Feb.
Bellefonte, Pa.,
THE LOVE LIGHTS OF HOME.
The bird to the nest and the bee to the
comb,
When the night from the heavens falls
dreary,
And love to the light in the windows of
home—
The light of the love of my dearie. l
And love to the light, like a swallow in flight,
When the storm blows the staes from the bine of
the night. ?
And a kiss from the red rose, a smiie from the
white,
In the gardens that bloom for my dearie.
The ships to the harbor from over the foam,
When the way has been stormy and weary,
And love tothe light in the windows of home—
The light of the love of my dearie.
And love to the light, like the bloom from the
blight,
When the spring suns weave wonders of red and
of white.
And the darkness of
bright.
In the gardens that bloom for my dearie.
is kissed to the
winter
The bird to the nest and the bee to the comb,
And never a night shall fall dreary,
While the lights in the beautiful windows
home—
Are hit by the love of my dearie !
And love to the light, like a bird from the night,
Where angels in lilies love's litanies write,
And a kiss from the crimson, a smile from the
white,
In the gardens that bloom for my dearie.
—Frank L. Stanton, in Harper's Bazar,
of
MISS JEMIMA'S VALENTINE,
Two crimson spots appeared upon Miss Je-
‘mima’s pale face when she heard the gate-
latch click. She knew that her brother was
bringing in the mail, and, as he entered
the room, she bent lower over her work,
her crochet needle flew faster and she
coughed a slight, nervous cough. Bat she
did not look up.
She knew, without looking, that her
brother brought in a pile of valentines in
his hand, and that presently when he
should have finished distributing them to
his eager sons and daughters, her nephews
and nieces, he would come and bring one
to her—or else ? Lie would not do this last.
It was this dread that brought the crimson
spots to her cheeks.
If there was one for her he would pres-
ently come, and, jeaning over ker shoulder
he would = as he dropped upon her lap
the larger, handsomer oe than all the oth-
ers, “This looks mighty suspicious, Sis’
Mimie,”” or “we'll have to find out about
this,” or maybe, as he presented it, he
would covertly shield her by addressing
himself to the younger crowd after this
fashion :— :
“Ef I was a loto' boys an’ girls, an’
couldn’t git a higger valentine from all my
sweethearts an’ beaux than my ol’ auntie
can set still at home an’ git, why, I'd quit
tryin’—that’s what I would.”
There was aiways a tenderness in the
brother’s manner when he handed his sis-
ter her valentine. He had brought her
one each year for seven years, now, and af-
ter the first time, when he had seen the
look of pain and confusion that had fol-
lowed his playful teasing as he had pres-
tented it, he had never more than relieved
the moment by a passing jest.
The regular coming of "Aunt Jemima’s
valentine’ was a mystery in the household.
It had been thirteen years since she had
quarreled with Eli Taylor, her lover, and
they had parted in anger, never to meet
again. Since then she had stayed at home
and quietly grown old,
Fourteen years ago she had been in the
flush of this, her only romance, and St.
Valentine's Day had brought a great, thick
envelope in which lay, fragrant with per-
fume, a gorgeous valentine. Upon this
was painted, after the old Dresden china
pattern, a beautiful lady with slender
waist and corkscrew curls, standing beside
a tall cavalier, who doffed his hat to ber as
he presented the card that bore her name,
so finely and beautifully written that only
very young eyes could read it unaided.
By lifting this card one might read the
printed ryhme beneath—the rhyme so ten-
der and loving that it needed only the in-
scription of a name on the flap above it to
make it all sufficient in personal applica-
tion to even the most fastidious.
This gorgeous affair was so artfully con-
structed that by drawing its pictured front
forward it could be made to stand alone,
when there appeared a fountain in the
background and a brilliant peacock with
argus-eyed tail, a great rose on a tiny bush
and a crescent moon. The oldest children
had been very small when this resplendent
confection had come into their home.
Some of them had not been born, but they
had all grown up in the knowledge of it.
There had been times in the tender mem-
ories of all of them when ‘‘Aunt ’Mimie”’
had unlocked her door, and because they
had heen very good, let them take a little
peep at her beautiful valentine, which she
kept carefully locked away in her bureau
drawer.
They had on occasion been allowed to
wash their hands and hold it—just a min-
ute.
It had always been a thing to wonder
over, and once—but this was the year it
came—when her sky seemed as rosy as the
ribbon ahout her waist—Miss Jemima had
stood it up on the whatnot in the parlor
when the church sociable met at her broth-
er’s house, and everybody in town had seen
it, while for her it made the whole corner
of the room beautiful.
But the quarrel had soon followed—a
foolish lover’s quarrel—Eli had gone away
in anger—and that had been the end.
Disputes over trifles are the hardest to
mend, each party finding itso difficult to
forgive the other for being angry for so
slight a cause.
And so the the years had passed.
For ten long years the beautiful valen-
tine had lain carefully put away. For five
years Jemima had looked at it with tear-
less eyes and a hardened heart. And then
came the memorable first anniversary when
the children of the household hegan to cele-
brate the day, and tiny comic pictured pa-
ges began flitting in from their school
sweethearts. The realization of the new
era was a shock to Miss Jemima. In the
youihful merriment of those budding ro-
mances she seemed to sce a sort of reflec-
tion of her own long-ago joy, and in the
faint glow of it she felt impelled to go to
her own roomy and to lock the door and
look at the old valentine.
With a new strange tremor about her
hears and an unsteady hand she took it out
and when in the light of awakened emotion
she saw again its time-stained and caught
its musty odor, she scemed to realized
again the very body of Lier Yost love and for
the first time in all the years the fountains
of her sorrow were broken up and she soh-
bed her tired héart out over the old valen-
| tine.
| Is there a dead-hearted woman in all
| God’s beautiful world, I wonder, who
‘would not weep once more, if she could,
| over some of life’s yellowing symbols—
| symbols of love gone by, of passion coo ed
| —who would not feel almost as if in the
recovery of her tears she had found joy
again ?
had at least found her heart again—and
sorrow. Her life had heen for so long a
weary, treeless plain that in the dark depth
of the valley of sorrowing, she realized, as
something only from sorrow’s deep poor
mortals may know it, the possible height
of bliss.
I'or the first time since the separation,
she clasped the valentine to her bosom and
alled her lover's name over and over again
sobbing it, without hope, as one in the
death'agony, But such emotion is not of
death. Is it not the rebirth of feeling?
So it was with Miss Jemima, and the heart
stillness that had been her safety during all
these years would never be hers again.
There would never again be a time when
her precious possession would not have a
sweet meaning to her—when it would not
be a tangible embodiment of the holiest
thing her life had known.
From this time forward, as an offset to
the budding romances about her, Miss Je-
mima would repair for refuge and a meagre
comfort to that which while in its discol-
ored and fading face it denied none of life’s
Younger romance, still gave her back her
own.
The woman of forty never realizes her
years in the presence of her contemporaries.
Forty women of forty might easily feel
young enough to scoff at the hald head,
and deserve to be eaten by bears—but thir-
ty-nine with a budding maid for fortieth
scoffer-—Never.
Miss Jemima, ‘in her suddenly realized
young-love setting, had become to her own
consciousness, old and of a date gone by.
“Aunt Jemima’’ was naturally regarded
by her bloeming nephews and nieces, as
well as by their intimates who wore their
incipient mustaches still within their con-
scious top lips or dimples dancing in their
ruddy cheeks, quite in the same category
as Mrs. Gibbs who was sixty, or any of
their aunts and grandmothers who sat se-
renely in daguerreotype along the parlor
mantle. But there is apt to come a time
in the life of the live single woman of forty
-—if she be alive enough—when in the face
of even negative and affectionate disparage-
ment, she is moved to declare herself.
Perhaps there be some who would say
that this declaration savors of carth. Even
so, the carth is the Lord’s. It is one thing
to be a flower pasted in a hook and quite
another to bein the bud a aiden wears—
one thing to be to-day and another to be
yesterday.
One thing, indeed, it was to own a yel-
low, time-stained valentine, and quite a
different one to be of the dimpled throng
who crowded the Simpkinsville post office
on valentine's day.
“I reckon them young ones would think
| 1b was perfectly redic’lous ef I was to git a
valentine at my time of life,” Miss Jemi-
ma said, aloud, to her looking glass one
morning. It was the day before St. Val-
entine’s of the year following her day of
tears.
“But I'll show ‘em.”” she added, with
some resolution, as she turned to her bu-
reau drawer.
And she did show them. On the next
day a great envelope addressed to Miss Je-
mima Martha Sprague came in with the
package of lesser favors, and Miss Jemima
suddenly found herself the absorbing cen-
ter of a new interest—an interest that after
having revolved about her awhile flew off
iu suspicion toward every superannuated
bachelor or widower within a radius of
thirty miles of Simpkinsville.
It had been a great moment for Miss Je-
mima when the valentine came in, and a
trying one when with genuine old-time
blushes she refused to open it for the crowd.
How she felt an hour later, when in the
secrecy of her own chamber she took from
its new envelope her own old self-sent val-
entine, only He who has tender knowledge
of maidedly reserves and sorrows will ever
know.
There was something in her face that for-
bade cruel pursuit of the subject when she
returned to the family circle, and so, after
a little playful bantering, the subject was
dropped.
But the incident had lifted her from one
condition into quite another in the family
regard, and Miss Jemima found herself un-
consciously living up to younger standards.
But this was ten years ago, and the mys-
terious valentine had become a yearly fact.
There had never been any explanations.
When pressed to the wall, Miss Jemima
had, indeed. been constrained to confess
that ‘‘certainly, every valentine she had
ever gotten had been sent her hy a man”
(how sweet and sad this truth !).
“Are all the new ones as pretty as your
lovely old one, Aunt ’Mimie 2”
To this. last query she had carefully re-
plied :
“Iain’t ever got none that ain’t every
bit an’ grain ez purty ez that one—not a
one.’’
‘An’ why don’t you show ’em to us
then ?”’
Such obduracy was indeed hard to com-
prehend.
If, as the years passed, if her brother be-
gan to suspect, he made no sign of it save
in an added tenderness. And, of course hie
could not know.
On the anniversary upon which this little
record of her life had opened, the situation
was somewhat exceptional.
The valentine had hitherto always heen
mailed jn Simpkinsville—her own town.
ark had been noted and com-
, and yet it had seemed im-
possible to 6 it otherwise. But, this
year, in spite of many complications and
difficulties, she had resolved that the en-
velope should tell a new story.
The farthest point from which within
her possible acquaintance it would natur-
ally hail was the railroad town of—let us
call it Hope.
The extreme difficulty in the case lay in
the fact that the post office was kept by
her old lover Eli Taylor.
Here for ten years he had lived his reti-
cent bachelor days, selling plows and gar-
den seed, and cotton prints and patent
medicines, and keeping post office in a
small corner of his store.
Everybody knows how a spot gazed at
intently for a long time changes color—
{ from red to green and then to white 2
| . .
| As Miss Jémima pondered upon the
thought of sending herself a valentine
through her old lover’s hands the color of
the scheme began to change from impossi-
| ble green to rosy red.
{The point of objection became in the
i mysterious evolution its objective point.
| to desire this thing.
By the only possible plan by which she
| could manage sceretly to have the valen-
| tine mailed in Jope—a plan over which
(she had lost sleep, and in @hich she had
{ been finally aided hy an illiterate colored
If Miss Jemima had not found joy, she
servant going there, to return next day—it |
must reach her on the day before Valen- |
tine’s. This day had come and goné—and
her valentine had not returned to her.
Had the negro failed to mail it? Had it
remained all night in the post office—in
the possession of her love? Would she ev-
er see it again? Would her brother ever,
ever, ever get through his trifling with the
children and finish giving cut their valen-
tines ?
PART II.
Miss Jemima had not long to wait, and
yet it seemed an age before the distribution
was over, and she felt rather than saw her
brother moving in her direction.
‘Bigger an’ purtier one ’n ever for Aunt
’Mimie this time—looks to me like,” he |
said, as at last he laid the great envelope |
upon her trembling knce.
“Don’t reckon it’s anything extrv—in |
partic’lar,”’ she answered, not at all know-
ing what she said, as she continued her
work, leaving the valentine where he had
dropped it ; not touching it, indeed, until
she presently wound up her yarn in answer
to the supper bell. Then she took it, with
her workbasket, into Ler own room, and,
dropped it into her upper bureau drawer,
and turned the key.
. The moment when she broke the new en-
velope each year—late at night, alone in
hen locked chamber—had always heen a
sad one to Miss Jemima, and {o-night it
was even a sadder ordeal than ever. She
had never before known how she cared for
this old love-token.
As she sat to-night looking at the outside
of the envelope, turning it over and over
in her thin hands, great hot tears fell tipon
it and ran down upon her fingers, but she
did not heed them. It was indeed a mea-
gre little embodiment of the romance of a
life, but such as it was, she would not part
with it. She would never send it out from
her again—never, never, never.
It was even dearer now than ever before
after this recent passage through her lover's
hands. At this thought she raised it lov-
ingly and it against her cheek. Could he |
have handled it and passed it on without a
thought of her? Impossible. And, since
he had thought of her, what must have |
Was he |
been the nature of his thoughts ?
jealois—jealous hecause somehedy was |
sending his old sweetheart a valentine ¥ |
This year’s envelope, selected with creat |
pains and trouble from a sample catalesue
and ordered from & distant city, was a fine |
affair, profusely decorated with love sym- |
bols. |
For a Tong time Miss Jemima sat enjoy-
|
|
4
tv
ing the luxury of nearness to her lover that
the unopened envelope had brought her he-
fore she felt inclined to confrent the far
away romance typiiced by the yellow sheet |
Within. And yet she wanted to see even |
this auain-—to vealize its recovery.
And so, with thoughts: hoth eager and
fearful, she finally inserted a hairpin eare-
fully in the envelope, ripping it open deli-
cately on two sides, so that it might come
out without iujury to its frail perforated
edges. Then carefully holding its sides
apart, she shook it.
And now—
Soniething happened. One of God's best
traits is that He doesn’t tell all he knows—
and sees.
How Miss Jemima felt or acied, whether
she screamed or fainted, no one will ever
know, when, instead of the familior thing,
there fell into her lap a beautiful brand
new vitlentine.
It was certainly a long time before she
recovered herself enough to take the
strange thing into Ler hands, and when she
did so, it was with fingers that trembled so
violently that a bit of paper that came with
the valentine fluttered and fell beyond her
reach. There it lay for fullystveral min-
utes before she had strength to move from
her seat to recover it.
There was writing on the fluttering fing-
ment, but what it was and why Miss Jemi-
ma wept over it and read it-.again and
again ave other trifling things that perhaps
God does well not to tell.
The details of other people’s romances
are not always interesting to outsiders.
However, in this particular case, it may
be interesting to know that the woman
who took charge of the old lover’s room in
Hope and who had an investigating way
with her, produced seven or eight torn
scraps of paper collected at this period from
his scrap basket, on each one of which was
written in slightly varying terms, bits of
rough sketches of a note in which occurred
broken sentences like the following: ‘‘—
sending you this new valentine just as
I sent the old one eighteen years—’’
‘You shan’t never want for a fresh one
again every year long as I live, unless you
take—"’ :
*‘If you want the old one back again and
me along with it.” ’
One of the lowest things that even a very
depraved and unprincipaled person ever
did is to collect torn scraps from anybody’s
waste basket and to read them. To print
them or otherwise to make them public is
a thing really too contemptible to contem-
plate in ordinary circumstances. But this
case, if intelligently considered, seems
somewhat exceptional, and perhaps it is
well to do so, for, be it borne in mind, all
these scraps, without exception, and a few
others too sacred to produce even here, are
the things that Eli Taylor, post master, did
not send to his old sweetheart, Jemima
Martha Sprague.
Miss Jemima always burned her scraps,
and so, even were it well to condescend to
seeking similar negative testimony from
her concerning her laboriously-written re-
ply, it would have been quite impossible.
Certain it is, however, that she posted af
note on the following day, and that a good
many interesting things happened in quick
succession after this.
And then 2—
There was a little, quiet middle-aged
wedding in the church on Easter Sunday.
It was the old lover’s idea to have it there
as he said their happiness was a resurrec-
tion from the dead, and belonged to the
Easter season, and there was no one to ob-
ject. :
Miss Jemima showed her new valentine
to the family before the wedding came off,
but in spite of all their coaxing and beg-
ging, she observed a rigid reticence in re-
gard to all those that had come between
that and the old one, and so, seeing the lust
one actually in evidence, and rejoicing in
her happiness, they would only smile and
whisper that they supposed he and she had
been quar’lin’ it out on them valentines,
year by year, and on’y now got to the place
where they could make up.’. |
The old man Eli, in spite of his indomit- |
able pride, had come out of his long silence
with all due modesty, blaming himself for
many things. ¢
“Lain’t fittm’ for, Jemimy, honey, no
mo’n I was eighteen year ago,” he said, |
| his arm timidly locking her chair the night |
| before the wedding, “but cf you keered
2 | enough about me to warm over the one lit
Instead of dreading she began ardently | 5
tle valentine I sent you nigh twenty year
| ago, and to make out to live on it, I reckon !
I can keep you supplied with cz thet, fresh
i every day an’ hour,
I take you into church I
“But bhefo’
want to call yo’ attention to the f;
I'm a eriminal 1i’ble to the State's
thet |
< Nisa
prison
for openin’ yo’ mail—an’
why, I'l haf to go.”
“Well, EN,” Miss Jemima answered,
quite seriously, “‘ef you're 1i’ble to State's |
I The organization of an army of American |
prison for what you have done, 1 don’t
know but I'm worthy to go, to a hotter
place—for the deceit I’ve practiced.” |
“Well,” said Eli, “I reckon ef the truth
was told, the place where we jest nachelly
both b’long is the insane asylum—for the
ejoits we've acted.
“When I reflect that I might a’ heen ez
happy ez I am now eighteen years ago, an’
i think about all the time we've Jost.”
I “Well—2
| “How comes it that Easter comes so late
| this year, anyhow 2
rn er sree re rn
Ramors for Venezuela.
The continued cilorts to create in this
country an impression that the Anglo-Ven-
| ezuelan treaty is in danger of rejection as
the hands of the congress at Caracas are
probably without warrant. That there
should be an element of discontent in the
South American republic over the out-
come of the boundary dispute is natural.
I Opposition to the covernment’s policy on
any great issuc is to he expected, and is
[ not pecular to Venezuela. It exists in ev-
ery country. We are bound to believe,
however, that in the present casesuch Opposi-
tion is irrespousible, and will not be for-
midable in the official discussion that will
follow the assembling of congress in the
latter part of this month.
Political conditions in South America
are peculiar. Whenever a majority opin-
ion adverse to the administration is devel-
oped in the national legislature, except on
the eve of election, it means revolution,
Every revolutionary effort against Presi-
dent Crespo has failed, and the progress
made hy the country under his direction
has largely increased and fortified his fol-
lowing. The extreme danger from which
a firm adherence to the Monroe doctrine on
the part of the United States has snatched
Venezuela is too fresh in the minds of the
people to be again invited. Partisan lines
have been eliminated on the boundry quest-
th
he had any rex
treaty in congress.
create an impression that this treaty de-
notes eventual North American supremacy
in South American affairs, practically
amounting to a protectorate, are doubtless
confined to cafes and a few political clubs.
They will not materialize in congress
ficiently to embairass Crespo or the treaty.
MN
1
where. Conservative opinion recognizes
the Monroe doctrine as the greatest bul-
wark of Spenish-American independence
against over-erowded Europe. The treaty
is quite safe.
rer morse
A Jenntain of Idle Money.
Saturday's bank statement reflected a
still further paralysis of business and
dustry.
The net deposits of the Clearing
banks amounted to $563,331,2690.
law requires a bank to hold idle. as a re-
serve against this lahilty no less than $140, -
833,950, in coin and legal tender currency.
But the banks hold also idle a surplus re-
serve of £59, 148, 250,
louse
ing House banks of New York alonea sum
of almost 200,000,000 of idle money, or
560,000,000 in excess of legal reserve, which
:aniot be lent to promote any industry or
to aid any business venture, because the
conditions are such that prudent industrial
and commercial employers of money can-
use of this money even at the very low in-
terest rates demanded—ecall loans being at
1.) per cent.
This is the paralyzing and prostrating
result of congress’ refusal to give the
country retrenchment, revenue and rest,
and of the Republican determination at all
hazards to force a tariff-ripping extra ses-
sion. :
The program isa reckless sacrifice of
the prosperity of the people toa desire to
reward campaign contributers with boun-
ties.
But of this wretched partisan purpose
the mountain of money now held idle in
the New York Clearing House banks, and
the millions held idle elsewhere, would
now be employed in creating wealth and
paying wages.
What do the people think of such a par-
ty policy ?— Record.
A Fast Run.
Railroaders will be interested in learning
of a fast run that was made on the middle
division, main line, a few days ago. This
fast trip it is stated has never been equal-
led by any other road in this country.
Class engine, No. 101, hauling the fast
mail, covered the distance hetween New-
ton Hamilton and Harrisburg, 83 miles, in
80 minutes, hauling eight heavy cars. One
stretch of 13.1 miles was covered in 11
minutes, and one mile was made at the
rate of 72 miles an hour. Jacob Beck was
at the throttle, and A. W. Black, of Har-
risburg, was conductor. The fast runs
made by the Empire State express, bauling
only four cars, are thus eclipsed by the
record of the 101 on the Pennsylvania,
hauling a train of double the weight of the
New York Central flyer.
‘Some Good in Sharks.
Even sharks have their uses. The ne-
groes of the Guinea coast eat the flesh and
consider it very good. In the Mediter-
ranean young sharks are considered good
good eating. Fifty thousand dollars’
worth of shark fins are imported yearly
from Calcutta to China, where they are in
great demand forsoup. The shark is a
god named Jon-Jon in some parts of the
African coast. Jon-Jon’s mouth is the
only sure way to .teaven, and three or four
times a year human victims are sacrificed
to it. In some of the islands of the Pa-
cific the teeth are greatly regarded as weap-
ons, being bored at the bases and lashed
upon swords, daggers and spears. The
real value of the shark, however, is its
work as a scavenger; it, with the vast
| droves of dog-fish, forming the purifiers of
the sea.
Money for Agricultural Colleges.
Under the law which applies a portion of
the proceeds of the public lands to the sup-
port of the several State agricultural col-
| leges, the Pennsylvania State college will
receive for the fiscal year ending June
| 822,000.
in 18%
30,
This appropriation, which began
20 with $15,000, increases $1,600 a
year until it reaches the sum of
atter which the annual gift remain
{sum. Forty-five states and three
| tories receive thie appropriation,
amounts this year to $31,056.000.
terri-
which
rT
if you say so, |
| General Colby Wiil Land 15,000 fen on the Isi= i
ion, and even were this not true, the coni- |
parative dictatorship which seems essential |
to stability in South American government |
would impel Crespo to take radical steps if |
a to suspect failure for the |
The cfiorts of irresponsible agitators to |
suf- §
The contention is too silly to appeal to more |
than a small minority in” Venezuela or else- |
IT
i=
The |
That is to say, there is now in the Cleai- |
not sce their way clear toa profit in the |
L000, |
Ww that |
American Army for Cuba.
and, All to be Fully Equipped.
| volunteers in aid of the Cuban republic has
| bony completed so far as the enrolling of
15,000 men is concerned, and the obtaining
of requisite supplies is advancing rapidly.
| The
ly been made public He has selected a
rendezvous outside the territory of the
United States for the army, equipping and
statutes.
The plan
on Cuban soil an American volunteer lesion
of not less than 15,000 able-bodied men, of
which 10,000 will be infantry, :2000 caval-
ry and 1,000 artillery. In 23 states
and territories there have already been
companies organized, and others
being formed. The infantry will be armed
with the Springfield breech-loading rifles,
the cavalry with Springfield carbines and
teries of six guns each, steel, brass and
Hotchkiss guns. Each infantry resiment
will have a gatling gun section attached.
The cost requived for arming, equipping,
rationing and transporting is estimated ap
$1,500,000. General Colby is confident
that when this army of American patriots
is safely landed on the island it will mean
victory from the start and the carly estab-
lishment of the Cuban republic.
General Colby is a man of enthusiasm
and patriotic instinets. He is full of vigor
and courage, and seems to know exactly
what he is doing. He has seen active ser-
vice during the rebellion and in a number
of Indian campaigns in Nebraska, Colorado
Wyoming and other western states. He has
served in the infantry, artillery and caval-
ry and in nearly every position from private
up to brigadier-general. He is thoroughly
in earaest, is confident, and is possessed of
the enthusiasm which compels success.
or rre—— —————
ar
ar
Pension Agencies.
=
President Cleveland Signs an Order
orl
wing ihe
Number. —A Largz Saving is Expected.— Where
There Are Now Eighteen Offices There Will Be
Nine Qaly After the First of Next September,
igned. oa the recom-
i
|
|
|
|
i The president has si;
i . o | ; .
| mendation of Secretary of the Interior
|
i
Francis, an important order reducing the
number of pension agencies in the United
States fron eighteen to mine. The object
i of the order
to the government without inconveniene-
{ing the pensioners. The secretary demon-
strates that by this reduction of the pen-
sion agencies the cost of dish
can be reduced by at leas
nua. Thise: {i
feet September fsb next, it
ling been postponed until tha
that no pensioner should suiter inconven-
(lence in consequence of delay in rec ving
his pension, anid to give ample time for the
removal of the volls and records from the
azencices discontinued.
The agencies abolished are : Concord, N.
| A. Aungasta, Me.; Baffalo, N. Y.; Pigts-
§ S156.000 per an
1
‘ill wo into e
18 exceation hav-
tn
{ burg, Louisville, {Tnoxville, Detroit, Mil-
waukee, DesMoines and Topeka. A new
| agency is established ab
{The method now in vosue of payi by
remittances hes so facilitated the work of
thie pension agents that the aholi:
the above offices was possible. The follow-
ing are the nine agencies and the number
lof pensioners paid thereat
order : Boston, 94,357; New York,
#333 ; Philadelphia, 106,733 ;
140,266 5; Columbus, 104,492 ; Indianapolis,
116,066 ; Chicago, 125,123 ; St. Louis, 161. -
709 ; San Francisco, 23,008 ; total, 970,67.
All pensioners of the United States resid-
| ing in foreign countries, and now number-
ling 3,781, will continue to be paid from the
| Washington agency, and the navy pen-
stoners will be paid as heretofore from Bos-
ton, Chicago, New York, Philadelphia, San
I'rancisco and Washington.
Secretary Francis is of the opinion that
no valid objection can be offered to this
93,-
|
i
be even greater than estimated.
ri ———————————
Postmasters Unconfirmed.
A List of 185 Nominations Held in the Senate.
For two or three executive sessions re-
cently the Post office Committee, of which
Mr. Chandler is acting chairman, has been
criticised for holding up nominations. Mr.
Chandler says that in all cases where the
Senators from the State have been able to
agree and where there has been no injustice
done, the nominee has been reported with-
out undue delay.
A count of the nominations show that
there are still with the committee a total
of 185 nominations that have not been re-
ported, and of these 85 are offices that have
recently become Presidential by promotion
from fourth-class owing to increased re-
ceipts of the office.
The nominations held up are for the fol-
lowing among other offices :
Pennsylvania — Bryn Mawr, Milford,
Bridgeport, Jermyn, Columbus, Sunbury,
Williamston, Mount Joy, Minersville,
Montoursville, Philipsburg, Evans City,
Union City, Saltsburg, Slippery Rock,
Galeton, New Wilmington, Dunbar, Etna,
Peckville, Derry Station and New Bloom-
field, of which thirteen have been raised
from fourth-class.
New Jersey—Swedesboro, Atlantic City,
Bayonne, Bridgeton, Ocean City, Paterson,
" been raised from fourth-class.
i Delaware-—Newark.
i Virginia — Cape
Orange.
Charles, Manassas,
——America does not seem as favorable
to the longevity of trees as are many parts
of the Old World, says Mechan’s Monthly.
It is said that pines in the north of Europe
are known to have endured for nearly 500
years. In Bavaria there is a larch which
is known to be 255, many oaks in Germany
are known ts be over 300 vears old, and
some over 200 years. Of other trees, indi-
viduals are known that have rcached the
ages set opposite to them . Ash, 170 years ;
birch, 160 to 200 years ; aspen, 210 years ;
mountain maple, 225 yews; elm, 130
years ; and ved alder, 145 years. In our
country there are few that are more than
mere remnants. Most of Bartrams trees
are gone wholly orarc fading. The famous
cypress has yet a few green branches. The
line silver fir on the Johnson estate in (ior-
mantown, though less than 100 years old is
entirely dead now—=orest Leaves.
—— ra
—Tather—* ‘Look here, Tommy ; what
[ do you think of the new baby brother the
[ doctor has just brought 2?
|
{
|
|
Tominy—**Why, he's got no hair! Oh!
and he’s got no teeth! Yow've been took
lin, father ; he's brought you an old an.’
—— Among the sincerest mourneis at the
{ funeral of King Humbers of Italy will be
the He insurance companies, They eare for
| him to the extent of $7,500,000,
plans of General L. W. Colby, the |
commander of the army, have only partial- |
mobilizing the troops where there will he |
no danger of interference from our wovern- |
ment and violation of any federal of state |
in general is to safely land !
are |
the artillery will be composed of four bat- |
o eifeet a very large saving |
ing pensions |
in orde- |
under the new |
Washington, |
change, and believes that the saving will |
Rockaway, Crawford, of which two have |
! FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN:
Because the Pompadour coiffure is the
fashion it does not follow that every won-
an can wear it and it is a wise one whe
| knows enough to discriminate in favor of a
[less modish but more becoming style of
| hair dressing,
A heavy fiat-iron,
eight pounds,
weighing seven or
will do better work if it is
| passed over clothes once with a firm, steady
| pressure than a lishter iron hurriedly
| passed over the clothes two or three times
What greater charm is there in woman-
| kind than that of an casy, graceful car-
jringe? Would you acquire the art of
standing, sitting and walking ? Then
| hearken to the words of a celebrated spe-
| cialist who has spent years in the study of
| the physical development of woman : “The
| perfection of grace comes from ease, preci-
sion and definiteness of movement.?’
“Definiteness”’—Ay ! there’s the rub!
| How many women are there, I wonder,
whose nmiovements may he called - definite
Not one in fifty, I verily believe. Take
[the average feminine pedestrian. If she
i walks slowly she slouches along ; if she
| walks quickly she leans forward, and in
her effort to make haste sways from one
side of the pavement to the other, thereby
losing instead of gaining time, and pre-
| senting anything but a dignified appear-
ance. All this can he remedied by a little
| care.
| First, as to standing. The secret of the
jart of standing properly is to make the
{abdominal muscles do their work. If the
| stomach is held “well in the rest is easy.
The centre of gravity being attained, the
i shoulders are thrown back, the knees are
straightened, the chin is held firmly in,
the throat is elongated and the head poised
graceinlly erect.
Sitting, too, let the same set of muscles
do their work—which is to support the
upper part of the trunk. Don’t let the
chest sink heavily down, depressing the
stomach and forcing the abdomen to Dro-
trude. Hold the body firmly and lightly
ercet, even when resting in a chair. Pain-
ful at fisst'it may be, but the muscles of
tue abdomen will soon become strengthen-
ed and will learn to do their duty iuvol-
untarily. :
Two-thirds of the beauty of a woman de-
| pends upon the grace of her carriage. It ix
{well worth while to strive for such an end,
| but one must remember the axiom of the
[famous French woman ; that it jis nee-
{ essary to suffer in order to be beautiful !
I Why do we admire a Bernhardt, a Duse
j ora Modjeska ? Because they are trained
Ito sit, walk and stand ; because every
I movement is precise, definite, and, there-
fore, full of gwce. Fancy an actress be-
fore the footlights in the attitude of the
fordinary careless woman—stomach pro-
| truding. chin out and bust sunken and de-
pressed. It would be a ludicrous posture,
and neither the art of a Terry nor the
golden voice of a Bernhardt conld nake
such @ one acceptable to the public.
Occasionaily nobility of care
wil, but almost invariably
moveinens which we so mu
; result of months—even years
of unremitting watchfulness
oe:
i admire is the
-of training ;
and persever-
ance. Dut the result is well worth the eof-
| fort. These courageous ones become a
type of what a woman should be physical
iv, and take their place among the ‘race
of charmers.”’
And so, too, may you, my sisters, if you
but remember that eternal vigilance is the
price of grace!
*
Dame Rumor has already made known
that all the thin fabrics will be rullied ang
flounced, and that the knee, or Spanish
flounce, will be the feature of the summer
gown of ’97. The skirt to which it is at-
tached will be quite narrow, and must be
fitted very smoothly around the hips, with
all the fullness massed at the back.
Some silk gowns sent over from Paris for
the midwinter festivities have pinked rufiies
about four inches wide all the way from
the hein almost to the waist.
Fashion now decrees that women shall
wear some white about the throat, and ne
longer are the dark ribbon and velvet col-
lars in style, says Harper's Bazar. On
many accounts it is well this new fiat has
been set forth, for white next the skin is
infinitely more becoming than any color,
even to the youngest and freshest com-
plexion, and had it not been the fashion te
wear the dark colors there would have
been long ago. as there is now, an outery
of how very trying it is to have blue, black,
green or any other color directly against
the throat.
Linen collars are once again fashionable,
and are to be seen in many different shapes.
Very few are wide, and it is considered
much smarter to have just a narrow turned-
down rim of the linen not over half an
inch wide than to have the broad turned-
down or equally broad standing collar like
those worn with the shirt waists last yeac.
The great disadvantage that was formerly
so trying with the linen collars when wore
in winter, namely, the chapping of the
skin, has been greatly done away with by
the new shapes. In the first place, the
band of the collar slips inside the band of
the waist, but is not quite so long, so the
lower edge does not cut into the neck, and
then the upper, being turned over, pres-
ents a smoother, softer edge. These col-
lars are buttoned on to the neck-band of
the waist, and have no flap like the col
larettes had. Pique is greatly used, and
some colored linens, but the plain, smooth;
white linen is considered much the smart-
est. There are cuffs to match which show
just the half-inch of linen. Fancy ribbom
stocks are used with these, with the bow
tied in front instead of the back, in the
fashion first introduced in Paris last sum-
mer.
Big bows of ribbon and tabs of lace are
still used for the more elaborate styles of
neckwear. These are still placed at the
back, and sometimes are quite alarming in
‘their proportions. Even the outside jack-
ets of fur, as well as the capes, have big
double bows of wide black satin ribbon,
which reach almost to the brim of the hat.
Of course this is an exaggerated fashion ;
but, oddly enough, has a smart look and is
generally becoming. When used on gowns
and not jackets, the hows are not so large,
and tabs of velvet or satin, cut in rounded
points, and with ruftles of lace between,
are combined with them. It is quite difii-
cult to put all the trimming now con-
sidered neceessary around the throat and
| not give an ugly hunched-up look, but the
the lines are well studied, and even in the
ready-made ruches and collars are to be
found a great variety that are eminently
satisfactory. Stocks of ribbon have lace
| points turned over from the inside, and at
the back lace, ribbon and more ruffles of
chiffon ave tied in together to give the full
leffeet- Sometimes, hut very, very seldom,
Lunches of artificial violets are tied in the
ruche, but this is & style so likely to he-
conte mon that it cannot be recom-
mended.
Col